


In The Details

by Artifiction



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: AU, Convent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6909580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifiction/pseuds/Artifiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The City of the Gods has everything a young noblewoman could want: intrigue, sewing lessons, politics, and, best of all... magic.<br/>AU where Alanna and Thom don't switch places after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Book

            Her fingers danced along the heavily carved wood, purple sparks bursting from it with each tap. In the middle of the door, the blue circle of light was shivering. No longer was it a steady pulse of energy that marked time with its rhythm. Instead, it flickered like a candle in the wind, trembling as tendrils of violet rose out of the wood and wrapped around it.

            Gnawing on her lip, she tapped faster still, sweat beading her forehead. The tips of her fingers had started to ache from the staccato beat, but the spell was cracking now, the light dwindling ever-faster. For a moment, it seemed to fade to little more than an outline. She exhaled, then yanked her fingers away. The blue circle vanished, and with a soft tinkle, the door swung open. For the moment, the library was hers. The girl's lips curved into a triumphant grin, and her bare feet padded confidently from the cold flagstones of the hall onto the rich red carpet beyond.

            She scanned the seemingly endless shelves, eyes glinting with hunger. This might be her last time here, before Maude took her north. She loved the library. Lord Alan made it harder each time to get find a way through the oak doors, furious that someone was still breaking in despite his efforts to protect it, but she knew her father's tricks inside out, and even this ward had only kept her out for two months. There were more books and scrolls here, on the towering shelves, than she could ever find time to read —had father really read them _all?—_ but then, she didn't need to. The histories and genealogies that he so loved held no interest for her. She just cared about the _magic_.

            Years ago, before she'd been old enough to read, there'd been more books on sorcery than anything else here, but now, there was but a single shelf, far in the back corner. There, the dust was thick enough that her bare feet made puffs of it in the air with each footstep, barely visible in the dim light of the crystals overhead. She stopped in front of the shelf, wiggling her toes into the carpet. Even among these she'd only read a handful. Most of them, she'd found, were impossibly stodgy and impenetrable, using words she'd never heard. Some, however, could be relied on for at least a few interesting tidbits, or carefully drawn diagrams. These were the ones she sought tonight, her finger tracing along the spines for exciting titles. Most were dull enough to skip without even needing to crack the cover, like "Essays on Scrying With Viscera". She wasn't sure who Viscera was, but at eight, she'd learned that any book that had 'Essays' in the title could not be trusted to be remotely understandable, and almost never came with illustrations.

            Her finger skipped past _Fell, Feral, Foul_ , which had been a fun book about mythical creatures called immortals (she'd almost told her father she'd read it, just so he'd know it had no _real_ magic in it) and _Entomological Discoveries in Tyre_ , the first page of which had depicted a beetle the size of her head mid-strike so convincingly that she'd dropped it on the floor and nearly screamed. The next book was something she couldn't recall having seen before. It was bound in black leather, and in faint gold letting on the side, she could just make out the word "Ysandir".

            Ysandir? It didn't ring a bell, but then, the authors of the books had the strangest names here. It looked short, and she grabbed it, resolving to read it later. She always sewed pockets inside her skirts so she could sneak pastries out past Cook in the kitchen, and she found the slim tome was just the right size to fit there as she tucked it away, hoping none of the crème from earlier was still there to ruin it.

            The next book was her favorite: _Lying Light: Illusions, an Introduction._ But if this was her last time here, she wanted something new. Rising on tiptoes, she began to scan the fourth shelf up, pleased that she could now look at it without needing to use a thick book as a stool. She'd just begun to reach for one that looked particularly promising when a gentle hand settled on her shoulder.

            She yelped, and spun around, nearly toppling into the bookshelf. It was Maude. The old woman looked weary, but somewhat amused.

            "It's after midnight, Alanna."

            The girl had the decency to flush, but quickly turned indignant. "How did you know? I checked for every kind of listening spell! I even spelled my feet quiet this time!" That had been a particularly tough charm to pull off. Her magic had tickled something awful.

            Maude raised her left hand. A small brass bell slipped from her palm to dangle on a long white thread. "I didn't use a spell, child. You think too much."

            Alanna's mind flashed back to the soft tinkling of the door opening, and she cursed herself for missing it in her excitement. Maude's hand pulled on her shoulder, beckoning her away from the shelf. "We'd best be going, child. If I'm caught in the library, my Lordship will think he's caught his thief at last." She gave Alanna a look, and the young redhead ducked her head, embarrassed. More than one servant had nearly been let go over Lord Alan's suspicions, and Maude rarely let her forget it.

            Reluctantly, the girl released the the volume she'd been drawing off the overhead shelf, which thumped back into place, and let Maude drag her out of the library. Her father was nowhere to be seen. If the breaking of his locking charm had woken him, he had not yet roused himself from bed to check on it. Alanna was fairly certain she'd not alerted him, careful as she'd been. Still, it did not do well to dilly-dally. She moved to run back to bed, but Maude held her back for a moment. "Child, we leave on Moonsday. Before we do, come to me, and bring Thom with you. I want to talk to you both." She looked as if she wanted to say something else, her expression distant worry, and something else, something Alanna couldn't place. Instead, Maude just shook her head, and let her go.

            Alanna ran silently back to the keep, the sudden shock of being caught just then catching up with her, and setting her heart to hammering. The thrill of finally beating her father's latest spell added a special thrum to each heartbeat. Thom, she was sure, would be delighted to hear she'd done it at last.

            He was awake —of course he was— and the moment she made it through the door, he stopped pretending to be otherwise, bolting up in bed and throwing his covers off. "Alanna! You're back quick. Did you find us something?" She felt the eagerness in his voice, and, with a sigh, shook her head. "Maude caught me." Of course, Thom would have fallen for the same trick. He was always slamming doors and being louder than he needed to be.

            Thom cursed. "You always get caught."

            That stung, and Alanna snapped back. "At least I can get through spells without burning down the whole door."

            They always practiced their magic together, and when Thom had been stumped by the very first spell Lord Alan had tried, the one that she'd figured out in a week, he'd practiced her technique on their bedroom door, and left a burn the size of a dinner plate in the paneled wood. Sometimes, she was as jealous of how much power he seemed to be able to call up at will as he was of her control. He pouted at her for bringing it up, and she sighed. "I'm sorry, Thom. I'm sure they have books in the palace."

            He glared. "Easy for you to say. You're going to the City of the Gods."

            It was wrong to be so happy when her twin was upset, but even the words sent a thrill through her. The City of the Gods. Home to the convent of the Mother Goddess, yes, but home too to the Cloisters where the Mithrans honed their craft. The convent was just a stone's throw from their Libraries, she knew, and if her father's magic couldn’t keep her out, neither could the Daughters of the Goddess keep her in. She couldn't wait.

            "Well, unless you want to learn to sew and curtsy and manage estates—"

            Thom snorted. "Not likely. Even knighthood is better than women's work."

            Alanna made a face at him in the dark. It had been this way ever since their father had made their futures clear. It was like their coming separation had driven a wedge between them, months before it would begin. They'd been sniping back and forth at each other ever since. Thom had tried to talk their father into letting him go with Alanna to join the Cloisters, but he'd been told in no uncertain terms that mage-work was meant for second sons, not the heir of the Lord of Trebond.

            The conversation was over. Her brother rolled over, facing the wall, and she sighed, beginning to undress. It wasn't until she was shucking off her skirt that her hand brushed the leather cover and she remembered the thin volume hidden inside. For a moment, she wanted to wake Thom, but something stopped her. His comment about women's work still hurt, and besides, the pages were small. There was no way to read it together as they usually did, not without bumping heads. The leather was warm under her fingers as she drew it out of the pocket. She climbed up on the bed, and reached out to her bedside table, lighting a candle with a touch. It flared to life, and she cracked open the book.

            Much to her surprise, she found her face on the inside front cover. Somehow, the page had been silvered and then polished to a mirror shine. She was sure the book must be ancient, but time hadn't tarnished the mirror. Purple eyes, framed by long red hair, gazed back at her from beneath the surface. She leaned closer to it, her shadow blocking most of the dim candlelight. It was an almost perfection reflection, save for a tint of yellow, almost like a mist across the surface.

            Her thumb, resting on the edge of the cover, brushed the mirror. It was cold to the touch, like a sheet of glass. She pulled her finger back. Something about the reflection was unsettling, and, after a moment more, she looked away. The opposite page was blank. She turned it, and to her delight, the book proved to have illustrations alongside the print. On the right, flowery words in a careful script marched down the page, but on the left... the left page was a drawing of a woman. The artist must have been infatuated with their subject, because they'd rendered her almost painfully beautiful, pale-skinned and golden-eyed. Alanna swallowed. There was a light in those eyes that seemed to peer right out of the page, up at her. The woman was reclining in a throne, a knowing smile on her lips, and her crimson-nailed hands were draped over the arms. The edges of the portrait faded into a midnight-black ink, as if the throne hung in a starless night sky.The detail was perfect, and, like the mirror, time hadn't faded the ink.

            For a few moments, she couldn't tear her eyes from the image, but then, slowly, she drew herself away, turning to the right, where the text began.

            _"Before Mithros, before the Goddess, there were the Ysandir."_

 


	2. The Ysandir

Much to her disappointment, the next few pages turned out to be history, and if there were additional drawings like the first —she had to resist the urge to flip back and gaze at the woman, sitting in repose in the void— they were further on. The Ysandir, it seemed, were an ancient culture that predated even the first people to come to the Eastern Lands.

It had never occured to her that there had _been_ a before, a time when there had been no Tortall, no Scanra to its north. The author seemed rather deliberately evasive regarding the years, but unlike the ridiculous book with the human-headed metal birds, Alanna found herself more intrigued than suspicious. Still, the story it wove was hard to swallow. The book spoke of powerful sorcerers —Thom would like _that_ — and a vast city of black stone, with spires rising out of an endless, verdant jungle that stretched from sea to sea. Where, then, was this city, where the jungle? She'd once read that there were jungles in the Copper Isles, but the forests of Tortall were evergreen pines, towering oaks, and slim birches.

For all his enthusiasm for the Ysandir, if he was indeed author and artist both, the man could certainly drone, and she could feel her eyes weighing down and threatening to shut. Idly, she wondered if the book would say what had happened to them in the end, and, suddenly curious, she lay the book down, and began to leaf carefully. Neat pages of perfect lines marched past her vision.  _"The night war began—", "Yerine, the third of his name—", "—a plague descended for a time—",_ she flipped on, searching for any mention of a decline, or some sort of cataclysm that could end such a people.

Suddenly, her finger caught on the edge of a page, and she stopped. The left page was the same neat script in forty even lines. The right was not. She brushed a thumb across the sheet. This parchment was ancient weathered yellow that did not match the earlier pages. It crunched at the touch, and carefully, she slipped a nail beneath a ragged corner, and turned it. It was a book within a book: she could see where a rough cord-binding had been done once, from uneven holes that framed the inside edges of the pages. They had been unbound, cut down to match the others, and fit into place. Strange.

Stranger still was the writing. It was neither the simple blocky letters of the Common she'd learned when she was young, nor the flowery curves that those blocks had become in the hands of academics that she'd taught herself to understand. Nor were they the rough and jagged runes of the Scanran written tongue that she knew from life on the border of their wilder neighbor. The page was covered with strange elongated swoops and circles that were unlike anything she'd seen in the library. They joined and overlapped, twisting every which way. The only reason she could even discern or guess that they were words at all was the way they flowed across the page.

She turned the page back, and checked the last paragraph of the historian.  _"The search at Olau proved a greater boon than I could have hoped. There may be relics there that will be the key in understanding—"._ The sentence would have continued onto the next page, had it been there. The handwriting looked more hurried, here, careful bookish lettering meanering into a journaling scrawl. There was no mention of the book-within-a-book, though, as she scanned the page. Olau. It was another fief, she knew, but little else. Carefully, she turned to the end, searching for the continuation, but all the rest of the book seemed to be those strange pages with their foreign script. She reached the back page, and found her own face again, peering out of the yellowed mirroring. Again, she felt unsettled. The eyes of her reflection glinted with a light that was not her own, like they were studying her as intently as did them. With a shiver, she shut the book. Outside, the birds would soon start trilling, and if she wanted not to feel dreadful all of the next day, she'd would need rest.   
  
The book, she tucked under her pillow. If she left it on the table, Thom would see it, would ask why she hadn't mentioned it. She didn't want an argument. Maybe she'd apologize in the morning. Thom loved mysteries, and the book would intrigue him as much as her. They'd sort this out. They usually did.  
  
Troubled thoughts carried her into stranger dreams, where she wandered through an endless forest unlike anything she'd seen. The air was filled with birdcalls, nothing like the tweeting of the sparrows that nested outside her window, and eyes seemed to peer at her from darkened bushes. As she wandered, a woman whose voice she did not know laughed and laughed, a voice that seemed to come from some hidden heights beyond the overhead canopy.

When she woke up, laughter still ringing in her ears, Thom was already gone.


	3. The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for spoiler-y content warning.

            Something jolted in her heart: had Thom found the book? It would make their fight only worse if he thought she was hiding something from her. She dug under her pillow, and found the small volume there. Relieved, she sat up, leaving it there for the moment, glancing around. One of the servants had been in while she slept. They’d hung up the skirt she’d left on the flagstones, making her glad she hadn’t forgotten to take the book out, and opened what passed for windows at a fortress like Trebond. It was summer, so no fire had been stoked in the fireplace, and the stone floor was bearable to step on as she got dressed. Summer at Trebond was short, but the City of the Gods was further north still, and she fully intended to enjoy the warmth while it lasted. She should have been preparing for her trip, of course —they were leaving tomorrow— but even if she decided to pack, a maid would repack everything for her, and then scold her for doing it in the first place. For a moment, she was tempted to stay in and read the book, but the scant rays of sun that made it through the window beckoned her. Forgoing the skirt, she changed into riding clothes, and went to say goodbye to Chubby. Her favorite pony was going south with Thom, and she wanted to take him out for one last ride. The little book came with her, tucked away in a pocket in her doublet.

            Corram found her in the forest outside of Trebond’s walls. The soldier had left his usual mount behind, choosing to hike through the woods, but Alanna, not wanting to push Chubby, hadn’t gone far by the time he caught up with her. He knew her favorite trails —he’d shown them to her, after all— and caught up to her near one of the mountain streams that ran through the fief. Corram looked pale, the way he always looked after a long argument with Maude, and with a guilty pang, Alanna remembered that Maude had wanted to see her and Thom. She smiled at him, trying to set him at ease, but he’d never been comfortable around her. Corram didn’t like magic, and felt that the way she and Thom took to it was ‘unnatural’, no matter what assurances Maude gave him about the Gift being as much the will of the Gods as a tree was. He didn’t quite meet her eyes as he approached.

            “Maude is wanting to talk to ye, an’ she’s saying its urgent.” The man’s lips came together as if to underscore what he thought of the sort of business the healing woman might have with the twins that would be urgent. “Wouldn’t give me rest ‘til I went and found ye in the woods. Outside the walls, mind ye, an’ in the summer! Yer lucky I found ye in one piece, not cut in half by Scanrans.”

            It was just like Corram to turn a summons into a scolding, and Alanna couldn’t help but scowl at him a little. “It’s August. You said it yourself, you won’t catch a raiding party on this side of the mountains this late.”

            Corram just grunted, mollified at least a little that she’d listened. Thom, after all, rarely did, no matter how much time Corram spent trying to teach him archery, or swordsmanship. Thom only really paid attention to any of his lessons when he thought Maude had something to teach him. More than once, Corram had talked the healing woman into holding back a spell, or a bit of magical knowledge, until Thom agreed to spend an afternoon learning weapons. She didn’t envy Corram the ride to Corus, with Thom on a pony that resented him.

            She swung up onto Chubby. Corram watched, and, judging by his expression, was thinking about the same thing. Corram had never had to force her to learn to ride, and though he spent long afternoons keeping her twin in the saddle, she knew she was still better than Thom at it. For that matter, she’d always thought that if she put her mind to it, she could best him at archery, too. But she preferred to read a book and watch Corram turn red and yell as he tried to get Thom to stand right, and hold his bow straight.  When she’d been younger, she’d wanted to learn to shoot a bow, but then Corram had taken her on a hunt. She still had nightmares about the sound of an arrow hitting a deer, the way its hooves had scraped frantically at the forest floor as it fell. She’d lost her taste for archery and venison in a single afternoon.

            Corram seemed to want to spend some time with the stream, so she left him behind, trotting Chubby back the way she’d come. She would have rather stayed with the pony, but if Maude had sent Corram out looking, it meant what she wanted to talk to her and Thom about was more important than Alanna had thought. The healing woman lived in Trebond village, within the walls of the castle. Alanna had heard that after they were born, Lord Alan had tried to banish Maude from Trebond entirely, but the people of the village had come together to keep her there. A lord was entitled to his prejudices, but no one wanted to lose their only hedgewitch. Though much of her magic was in herbs and mixtures, not a soul at Trebond could say they hadn’t gone to her for help with one malady or another, and everyone knew that with her as a midwife, a child and its mother had better chances than with any other. Alanna tied Chubby to the post outside and stepped into the hut, inhaling the heavy scents of herbs that always hung there. Though the fireplaces in the castle were dark, here, Maude’s hearth never went out. She was always cooking up one recipe or another, whether to ward off colds or something else. Alanna liked it. In the winter, Maude’s was the only place she felt truly warm, without even needing to use her Gift.

            Thom was there already, impatient, and sweating. He looked cross to see her, and she sighed. She hated it when the two of them quarreled, and hoped they’d get a chance to make it right. She offered him a smile, and, much to her relief, he made an effort to smile back.

            “Finally. Maude told me to sit tight until you showed up. It’s _sweltering_ here.” Maude herself was nowhere to be seen, but after Alanna sat down, the door creaked and she came in. Alanna had though Corram had looked pale, but compare to Maude, he had been in good spirits. Usually, she would have given them a fond greeting, or at the very least said something. Instead, she went to the fire, staring at it for a long moment. There was a basket under her arm, stuffed with a plant that could only be vervain. When she turned to them, her expression was set in grim resolution entirely strange to that kind face.

            “For the last few nights, I have dreamt strange things. The Goddess, in her wisdom, did not give me burden of prophecy, but these are—“ She stopped, as if struggling with what she wanted to say. She shook her head, after a moment. “Strange dreams. Terrible dreams. Of sand and stone and fire. Dreams I do not understand. But in every one, I saw you. The two of you. I _must_ See into the fire. Perhaps it is nothing, just nightmares. But I must.”

            Alanna had never seen Maude like this, and it frightened her. Thom, usually one to argue, looked puzzled, and though he hid it well, as scared as she felt. She’d once asked Maude to teach them to scry, thinking it would help her and Thom talk when they were separated. The woman had told them it was a magic she was not given. Alanna knew the dangers of attempting sorcery you couldn’t control. It could eat you up from inside, and worse. Still, that tone brooked no argument. She exchanged glances with Thom, and by mutual agreement, they nodded to Maude.

            The woman took the two of them by the hands, drawing them to the fire, and knelt. Alanna hadn’t noticed before, but the usual pot was absent over the hearth, and she suddenly wondered how long Maude had spent thinking about this. The leaves of vervain turned into smoke as they vanished into the flames, and Maude took a breath, lips rustling in an unspoken incantation. Alanna mouthed along with her. This was no simple spell, like scrying to find a lost child, or to see a loved one. Maude was striving to see the future and asking for clarity, and her spell was a plea to the Goddess herself. Alanna shivered. Through her palm, she could feel Maude’s meagre Gift being drawn into the fire, and she sent her own after it, knowing Thom was doing likewise on the other side. Green flickers mixed with violet incandescence, and then, Maude thrust their hands into the fire.

            It was all she could do not to scream as some strange energy hammered through her veins, and in its wake, pain, like nothing she’d felt before. Distantly, she almost thought she could hear a woman screaming. She bit her lip, her nose filling with the scent of something burning that was not wood or vervain. Around her hand, the flames writhed wildly, the violet light shrinking. On Maude’s other side, Thom was squirming, but the fire was almost still, as were the green flames before Maude. She tried to jerk her hand free, but Maude’s grip had suddenly become like iron, and seconds stretched on as the pain redoubled. Maude’s grip slackened, and Alanna yanked her hand back, throbbing with agony. She didn’t want to look down, afraid of what she would see. Thom was staring at his own, untouched skin, fascinated, and slowly, Alanna forced herself to look at her fingers. The skin was ashen in places, and an angry red in others, mottled by strange, twisting patterns. A perfect outline of Maude’s hand, the skin untouched, wrapped around her wrist where the woman had held her. Neither Thom nor Maude had noticed, not yet. Maude was staring at the fire, unseeing, and Thom was still admiring his unbroken skin.

            _There is no magic more simple, yet more powerful, than the illusion. Illusions can hide armies, and vanish them. The weakest Gift can still make light, and that is all illusion is._ The opening lines from _Lying Light_ had captivated her like no other book had. The author did not exaggerate. She could still remember the way Lady Catherine had shrieked as she fled the castle, no longer interested in Lord Alan, pursued by the ghosts of her dead husbands. More than once, she’d hidden bruises earned during a late-night ride through the woods so that no one clucked at her about them. This wasn’t any more complicated, she told herself. Taking a breath, she drew the image of her hand into her mind, and let her power flow into it. The scrying had taken a lot out of her, but even so, purple sparks crawled out of skin. Blackened skin faded to healthy tan. The pain didn’t abate, and her concentration almost faltered as she tried to move her fingers. Her body was trembling, but the illusion moved with her. “So mote it be.” Her words were a hoarse whisper, and as if awoken by them, Maude, at last, shook herself out of her reverie.

            “I have seen other things. Darker things still.” Her voice was as hoarse as Alanna’s. Whatever reassurance she had been looking for, it seemed she had not found it. It took her a moment to realize the twins were staring at her, eyes wide and worried, and she smiled at them, tiredly. “It’s alright. A shadow seen in the fire may yet not come to pass. Run along. We all have long rides tomorrow.” Alanna glanced at Thom. He shrugged at her, and stood, and she followed him, wordless. She stopped in the doorway, and glanced back at Maude. The woman looked older than Alanna had ever seen her look before, hunched over. Hand aching, she let the door swing shut, leaving the healing woman alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: burns.


	4. The Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warning as previous chapter.

            Thom was waiting for her by Chubby, scuffing his boots in the dirt, and trying not to shy too close to the pony. He was waiting for her, and he was spooked. He was hiding it well, but she could see it in the hunch of his shoulders, the way he worried his toes against ground. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and she realize that he wasn’t just spooked, he was also _thrilled_ about something.

            “Alanna. In the fire, did you see anything? A man?”

            Her eyebrows shot up. It was Maude’s spell. Thom wasn’t supposed to See anything, or see anything, for that matter. But then, scrying flames weren’t supposed to burn you, either. Her hand throbbed beneath the illusion, and more than anything, she wanted to tell Thom to go stuff his vision so she could find somewhere quiet to work a healing spell. But they were _already_ fighting.  Alanna didn’t want to make it worse, not now, not the day before they’d be parting. She drew in a breath, willing herself to bear the pain, and shook her head.

            “No. I just saw the flames.” She forced herself to turn towards the castle, and begin walking. Every step seemed to jar her fingers together, sending spikes of pain through her arm. “You shouldn’t have seen anything either, right?”

            Thom shrugged, following.  “Sure, but I did.” He grinned. Thom liked it when strange things happened, he said it kept things interesting. “I saw a man in the fire, and you didn’t.”

            She bit back the urge to say that _she_ might have seen something _too,_ if she hadn’t been busy watching her hand cook in the flames, and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe it’s someone you’ll see at Court. The gods could be giving you a warning.”

            This only seemed to cheer him up more. She realized with a pang that the moment to mention what the fire had done to her had passed her by. If she told him now, instead of being preoccupied by his vision, he’d start prying at her about what she might have done to trigger the reaction to the flames, and secretly get grumpy that something much more ‘interesting’ had happened to her than him. The last thing she wanted to do now, when he as the cheeriest she’d seen him in months, was drag him down.

            The walk through towards the keep seemed to take forever. Her early ride, and the magic were catching up to her. Fortunately, Thom had bid her a cheery goodbye and headed elsewhere, as she wasn’t sure she would have been able to focus on what he was saying. Step by step, she dragged herself through the village. When she entered the keep at last,  she had to resist the temptation to simply drop down in the nearest nook and sleep. Instead, sheturned to the left in search of somewhere quiet, and settled on a dusty storeroom.

            When their mother was still alive, according to Corram, Trebond had boasted a much larger household, and no nook of the castle went unused. To her, it had always been mostly dusty, empty rooms. It was the first time she was glad about it. Pulling the door closed behind her, she dropped down onto an empty crate, uncertain that she’d be able to get back up.

             With a sigh, she stretched out her hand in front of her. Mixing magic was risky: she would have to drop the illusion before doing anything further. She closed her eyes, and focused on her hand. In her mind, the image of her hand floated, unmarred, surrounded by violet glitter. One of the reasons illusions were the simplest form of magic to sustain was that they provided their own focus. Once the illusion had been cast, it would draw your power towards it without needing a second thought. Of course, it meant there were some famous incidents of illusion mages dropping dead mid-step, having let too much of their power sap away in maintaining their spells. She hadn’t realized how close she’d been pushing it. Between the scrying spell and the illusion, the flame she was used to feeling in her mind’s center was dwindling dangerously low.  

            Much to her distress, releasing the illusion proved harder than she expected. Her first few attempts to simply dissipate it did nothing. She couldn’t jist dismiss it with a _so mote it_ any more than she could have shattered the spell on the library door that way. The illusion was was a proper enchantment, power woven around a focus. Worse, the image was of her _hand_ , whole and undamaged, the way she’d seen it all her life. It resonated with her, clung to her consciousness. To release the spell, she had to tear the image of health apart. The fact that each heartbeat brought a fresh wave of pain and fatigue didn’t help with her focus in the least.

            She bit into her lip, trying to focus. The image still hung there, in her mind, and she could feel energy seeping into it, draining her power away moment by moment. She reached out for the flow, and stemmed it as much as she could. The image flickered, and dimmed. With a victorious thrill, she began to work to unravel the light and power that held together the illusion.  This time, it yielded to her, though it faded away with maddening slowness. First her fingertips, then the knuckles, towards her palm. There, at last, the spell snapped, and she felt the power in it run back to her, bringing with it a second wind.

            Opening her eyes would bring her burned hand into view, but if she had the will to dispel the illusion, she could face the injury. She let one eye creep open and winced. The hand looked even worse than before. Scattered across the burn, blisters had begun to rise, looking like droplets of water on her skin. Where the skin had blackened, the color had gone to an ashen grey. In those spots, she couldn’t feel pain, or anything at all, islands of numbness. Now that she was alone, she allowed herself to groan, releasing the tension that had been building from suppressing the pain. "Ow. Ow, ow ow..." She couldn’t seem to muster the strength to raise her right hand, so with her left, she gripped her forearm a few inches above where the pale prints of Maude’s fingers stood out, and raised it closer.

            She had healed her fair share of injuries, mostly scrapes and such, though more than once, she and Thom had helped Maude with a more serious healing when someone in the village was hurt. She didn’t know the spell for burns, specifically, but adapting other healing spells wasn’t too hard. She wove it on the fly, at the last moment changing the final line and dropping ‘ _...in Mithros’s name!”_. Invoking the names of the gods in magic a second time in an afternoon didn’t seem wise, especially given what the last such spell had done. Magic the gods didn’t want done had a nasty habit of going very wrong.

            “ _Knit flesh, mend skin,_  
            _Draw the power from within,_  
_What was burned make whole again,  
            Heal what withered in the flame.”_

__

            A trickle of power ran from her to her hand. The pain faded, and she sagged with relief, and redoubled exhaustion. Healings drew strength from the body, as well as her Gift. She instantly regretted not finding some place to lie down. The crate that had seemed so sturdy now swayed beneath her, but she forced herself to stand. Some of the red patches were fading a little, but she knew the amount of power she had put into the healing would hardly have an effect on a burn like this, save to stave off the pain and prevent infection. She still needed to bandage it.

__

            Alanna could have sworn the door was much closer than it seemed now, but, by some miracle, she made it across the room, and into the hall. Cook kept bandages in a storeroom near the kitchens, for when he slipped with one of his knives. Tired as she was, it only took her three wrong turns before she found it. The door was fortunately unlocked, as she was certain she couldn’t draw up the strength to spell the lock open. Later, she wouldn’t be able to remember searching for the bandages, digging them out from under bags of potatoes, or winding them haphazardly around her hand, much less the trek back up the stairs to the rooms she shared with Thom. She did recall curling up on the bed without undressing, and falling asleep with her hand clutched to her chest.

__


	5. The Morning

            The healing had taken more out of her than Alanna had expected. When she woke, it was already dawn, and scant rays of sunlight were peeking into the room. Thom, who was never one to wake early, was gone again, and Alanna took her time sitting up. Both of their wardrobes stood empty. Whatever clothes they were not taking with them were no doubt being packed away. By the time she or Thom returned to Trebond, none of it would fit. As she stood, she sniffed the air, and following her nose, found a plate of turnovers on her desk. It was unmistakably a peace offering from Thom. Her twin rarely apologized out loud, but she knew he hated when they quarreled as much as she did. Since she’d no doubt been missed at dinner, he would have known she’d wake up starving from working magic with Maude.

            She dug into the turnovers gratefully. Usually, she would have been careful about spilling crumbs onto her desk, but like Thom’s, it had been cleared. The palace would supply his parchment and inks, and the convent hers. As for their personal notebooks, where they’d recorded their various magical experiments, Thom had had the foresight to give them to Maude. The healing woman would make sure they ended up at the bottom of their saddlebags, where there was no risk of someone else finding them and raising a fuss with Lord Alan. Absently, she pulled open one of the drawers, and, much to her surprise, found a folded note.

            Polishing off the second-to-last turnover, she drew the note onto the desk, and pressed it flat. The handwriting was unmistakable. It was from Father.

_Daughter,_

_I regret that I will not be here as you depart for the City of the Gods. I was called away to the Whitethorn Conference, and will be some time. I pray you will not shame me or our name._

            Her eyes stung, and she wiped them hurriedly with the back of her left hand. She had not been certain that Father would see them off, but still, something about the quick script, neat and impersonal, left her feeling cold. The food in her stomach felt like a weight, and she stood up quickly, no longer hungry.

            She turned to Thom’s desk, nestled by the window. A balled-up piece of parchment lay under it, and she could picture Thom throwing his version of the note there. For a moment, she was tempted to do the same. Instead, she folded it, and tucked into a pocket. As she did, the bandages on her right hand snagged the back of the chair, and the motion yanked a trailing end free. Pain stabbed through her like a knife, and she clung to the chair for a long moment, trying to just breathe. She suppressed the urge to kick the chair. It was her fault for doing a shoddy job with the bandages in the first place. She hadn’t secured them properly, and in her sleep, they’d turned into a tangled mess. If she wanted to do better, she needed more supplies than what Cook kept around. She needed Maude. Or rather, since telling Maude was out of the question…

            Careful not to muss the bandages any more, she tucked her hand into her doublet, grateful that she was already dressed for a ride. The bandaged hand brushed against something smooth, and she remembered the book about the Ysandir. She was glad she’d taken it with her, the day before. If the maids had packed their things while they were gone, not while she was sleeping, she was certain that they would have found it, and that would certainly have been brought up to Father. Well. If he’d been home. At this point, she supposed, she could stand on top of the parapet and yell for all of Trebond to hear that she was the one who had been breaking into the library for the last few years, that she _loved_ practicing magic. By the time word got to him, she’d be at the City of the Gods, and beyond the reach of his annoyance.

            Grinning at the image, she shook her head, and turned to leave the room, grabbing the last turnover. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Lord Alan might forget his duty to his children, but she wasn’t going to forget her duty to her stomach. Doing her best to stay cheerful despite the letter and her hand, she headed down the stairs and out of the keep. Well-rested and well fed, the walk to Maude’s hut was much shorter than it had been the day before. Down behind the great curtain wall, it was still dark, and much of the village slept. Maude would usually have been awake, but when Alanna peeked through the window, she saw the woman still in bed. There was a green bottle by the bedside that even through the cheap glass, she recognized as Maude’s best sleep potion.

            Well. That made her job easier. Even within the walls, most would at least latch their doors, but no one would dare steal from a hedgewitch, for fear of being cursed. Alanna didn’t worry about that. Maude knew nothing of curses, and didn’t care to know it, either.

            This time, she had the foresight to check for bells before slowly opening the door. Maude slept on, and Alanna wondered how bad the woman’s dreams had been, to make her resort to dreamwine. It wasn’t worth worrying about. There was no way to talk Maude into telling you something she didn’t want you to know, as Alanna and Thom had found whenever they’d wheedled for a spell that she didn’t think them ready for.

            She didn’t need to rifle around much. Trebond, with its rich forests, played host to several families of charcoal burners, who often came to Maude with burns from their work. Ointment and bandages were packed neatly together in a wooden box, up on one of the higher shelves. With the aid of a rickety chair, she retrieved it, and carefully slid off the lid. She drew her bandaged hand out of the doublet, and, as carefully as she could, began to unwind them. The inner layers were stuck fast to her burnt skin in several places, discolored in shades of red and yellow. She set her jaw, and, inch by inch, unwound them anyways, ignoring the jabs of pain that shot through her when they brought ruined skin along with them, tangled in the bandage threads.

            The hand looked worse than the day before. Ashen grey skin had begun to wrinkle, and had torn in several places. Reddened skin had turned more vividly scarlet still. Burns were always like that, Maude had told her, the serious ones, at least. They got worse before they got better, as the body began to notice the damage. To her relief, she could twitch some of the fingers, if only barely before the pain became too great. Where it wasn’t numb, her hand felt _taut_ , like the skin had been drawn over it like a drumhead. But there were no angry red streaks running up her wrist, no sign of infection setting in, even though Cook’s bandages hadn’t been the cleanest. Her healing had worked.

            Alanna touched one of Maude’s candles with her left hand, and sent a spark of her gift to it, making the wick light. With her right hand, she didn’t even have to think about the little spell to make it work, but she was less used to doing magic with her left. _It’s going to be a miserable ride, if I can only hold reins with my left…_ She tried not to think about it too much. That would be a bridge best crossed when she came to it. She moved her left hand to the damaged wrist, still carrying the purple spark. It sank in through her skin, and for the second time, brought a rush of relief from pain so palpable, her head nearly spun. Had she realized that her foot had been keeping a staccato beat against the floor, or how hunched her shoulders had been? Feeling the pain ebb away was better than a hot bath on a winter morning, and it brought her focus.

            She glanced over at Maude, who still slept. It didn’t do to dally. The first thing was to cast the first healing spell Maude had taught her, the little charm that cleaned your skin of the dirt that could carry sickness with it. She hummed it, feeling the familiar tingle along her skin, then turned her attention to the burn. She wasn’t sure she could bear the sensation of her skin shifting under her fingertips as she rubbed in the ointment. Instead, she unrolled a long stretch of bandages, careful to not let it touch the table, and dipped her finger into the jar, scooping out a generous dollop and smearing it into the bandages. It spread cleanly and evenly, with no lumps or grains. Maude did good work. Alanna usually lacked the patience it took to get the fine paste of herbs that was the base ingredient of most balms.

            Once a yard and a half of it was soaked in the ointment, she began to wind it around her hand, more carefully this time, starting with the web between thumb and forefinger, the way Corram had shown her once how he’d bandaged his hands before a fist fight when he was a boy. Even through her magic, it hurt as she wrapped her hand, keeping the fingers separate so that they would heal. The touch of the ointment brought some small measure of relief, cooling the flushed skin. She wrapped two more layers of bandages over the ointment-soaked ones, and tucked the ends in as securely as she could. The box went back on the shelf. She only briefly considered taking it with her. There’d be nowhere to hide it, and besides, Maude was not rich. Stealing from her when she already had so little wasn’t something Alanna could justify for herself. In the City of the Gods, she would be able to find ointment in the markets. _If father didn’t forget to send the Daughters of the Goddess an allowance for me._

            The sun had finally begun to peek over the wall as she crept out of Maude’s hut, letting the door swing closed behind her. The vast portcullis in the wall had risen, and with it, the villagers on both sides of the wall. With her hand tucked into her doublet again, she meandered towards the stables, where she knew Corram would be waiting. Sure enough, the old soldier was there, saddling Chubby. Thom was nowhere to be seen, and Alanna wondered what had gotten him out of bed so early, if not to meet Corram here. The soldier looked at her, disgruntled.

            “The two of ye were doin’ sorcery with Maude.” It wasn’t a question.

            She just shrugged at him, and he gave her one of his scolding looks that had stopped scaring her years ago.

            “Well, next time, take care of yer horse, first. Chubby’s served well enough.”

            _That_ did sting. She’d been so busy with her burn the day before that she’d forgotten to take Chubby back to the stables. She lowered her eyes, embarrassed. Corram was right. Wishing she had an apple, she approached the pony, easing under his neck to stroke his withers. “I’m sorry, boy. I wasn’t very good to you.” Evidently, Chubby forgave her, leaning into her hands with a light nicker. She knew it was her last time seeing the pony for a long time, and peeked around him at Corram. “Promise you won’t let him be fed to dogs, even if Thom gets too big for him.” If there was a hitch in her voice, Corram was kind enough not to comment on it. His face softened.

            “Yer kind to think of it, Mistress. I’ll keep an eye for him, seein’ as yer brother like as not won’t.”

            She nodded, and turned her attentions to the pony she’d be taking north, a placid roan named Midsummer. The hostler who named her said the pony was as lazy as he felt in Midsummer sun. As far as Alanna was concerned, a pony that didn’t care for excitement was going to serve her well when her good hand was going to be useless for the ride. Fortunately, someone had already saddled her, and there wasn’t much left to do.

            At that moment, Corram realized that Maude hadn’t arrived, and cursed, before heading into the village to find her. Alanna couldn’t help but grin a little. Maude had woken him up with a hangover more than once. She had no doubt Corram would secretly enjoy the chance to return the favor, even if a cup of dreamwine was hardly the same as three bottles of brandy. With the armsman distracted, she stepped around Midsummer, and headed into the stables. There was riding gear there, ready for those who needed it. Usually, she would have dug around in the smallest basket, where the children’s gear went, but today, she went two over, and found an over-large riding glove. As carefully as she could, she slowly slipped her bandaged hand into the glove, glad she’d chosen to wrap her fingers separately. The glove came to the middle of her arm, covering the bandages perfectly. The other glove went on her other hand. A mismatched pair would be much easier to tell than an oversized one. At a glance, everything looked normal. She smiled, and left the stables. Corram wasn’t back, yet, but as she approached Midsummer, Thom appeared, trotting down the path from that led to the gate. His eyes were glinting, the way they did when he had something up his sleeve, and when he noticed her, he grinned, and motioned for her to approach.

            Alanna raised an eyebrow. Thom was never this chipper in the mornings, especially if there was the prospect of a long ride ahead of him, and he’d been dreading this day for months. What in the world could have him looking like the cat that caught the canary? When he reached into the pack he was carrying and drew out a silvered mirror, she had her answer. The mirror was a fine piece of work, an ebony handle set into silver filigree around its surface. On the back of the mirror, Trebond’s crest gleamed. She’d seen the mirror before, on their Father’s desk.

            “Put it back.” Just because their father wasn’t there, didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss it when he returned. “He’ll blame a servant if you don’t.”

            “I left a note.” There was a bit of bitter satisfaction in his voice, at that. Evidently, the note Father left him had been as impersonal and cold as hers.

            “What do need it for? You don’t give a whit for your looks.”

            Thom grinned. “I’m not using it to look at _myself_ , it’s for Seeing!”

            Alanna couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “Thom. Just because Maude did it yesterday, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to keep doing it.”

            Thom shook his head. “Alanna. If I saw something in the fire, it’s because I was meant to. I spent the morning up on the walls, trying to See in the mirror, and I got a glimpse of him again. The man! It was like looking through mist. It took me hours to get that much, too!”

            Now that she was watching for it, she could see how tired he was beneath his exuberant smile, in his eyes and the way he stood. “You’re going to fall off Chubby halfway own Trebond Way.” Looking inside herself, her own Gift had not yet recovered from the day before. Still, she forced herself to draw a thread from it, and, reaching out a hand, brushed Thom’s cheek. He straightened immediately, his color improving, the redness in his eyes fading just a little.

            “Thanks.” His lips twisted into a smile as he said it. He liked thanking people only slightly more than apologizing. Then, his gaze sparked, and he continued. “I think it might be the King. I found a gold noble in father’s desk, and the portrait of King Jasson looks like the man in the vision, sort of, ‘cept Jasson didn’t have a beard.”

            Now that was interesting. Their father didn’t care for court proceedings, and all she knew of the royal line was that the current king was Roald of Conté. If Thom was having visions of the king, perhaps he was right to try to See more. In any case, she wouldn’t be able to persuade him not to.

            “Just be careful, okay? If it _is_ the king, maybe he doesn’t want to be watched.”

            She laughed. Thom usually only got this poetic about the famous mages they read about in their stolen books, like Timaran Windkissed, or Jeyru of Barzun. Her twin had once discovered a sketch of Jeyru in _Kinslayers and Kingslayers,_ a book about traitorous sorcerers through the years, and had doggedly drawn and redrawn the man on every piece of parchment for weeks afterwards, much to their teacher’s annoyance.

            “Just make sure Corram doesn’t catch you with it. Not that he’d touch a mirror you’ve been using for Seeing, but still.”  

            Thom nodded, and turned to Chubby. Alanna reached out to steady the pony as her twin hung his pack with the rest of the bags, tucking the mirror back into it as he did. Before he had a chance to ask where Corram and Maude were, the sound of footsteps rounded the side of the stables, and the soldier appeared, Maude trailing behind him. Corram’s plan to wake her must not have gone as expected, as the healing woman wore a tired, but amused smile, and Corram’s cheeks were ruddy under his beard.

            “If ye aren’t plannin’ to be laughin’ at me as well, I think it be time we ride.”

            Alanna hid her grin from Corram as she swung up into Midsummer’s saddle, Thom following suit a few moments later onto Chubby. The pony must not have realized it was carrying Thom yet, as for the moment, he remained astride, Chubby making none of his usual attempts to dump him. _Perhaps he realizes today is a big day_.

            Alanna watched as Corram helped Maude up into the saddle of a mare, then mounted up himself onto his gelding. The castle gate awaited them. For a moment, no one moved, then Alanna flicked the reins, and Midsummer began a placid trot towards it. Corram, Maude, and Thom all carried their reservations. She had none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One guess who the blue-eyed man in the mirror is.  
> Also, please let me know if you spot typos. I'm the worst about those.


	6. The Ride

            A drizzle began less than an hour into their ride down Trebond Way. Hunched beneath waxed cloaks, their party grew sullen and silent. For Thom, it seemed the initial excitement from his adventures in scrying had faded beneath the weight of the inclement weather, the prospect of a long ride, and the knowledge of what waited for him at the end of it. Whatever was gnawing at Maude had its teeth in her again, the usually gossip-happy woman as silent as Corram. As for Alanna, she had her own reasons for not wanting to chatter away. The pain spell had faded, and her Gift reserves had run low enough that she didn’t dare renew it. Maude’s ointment helped, but with every click of Midsummer’s hooves, her hand jarred inside the oversized glove and a surge of pain wormed its way up her arm. Had Maude been chatty, Alanna would have had to come up with an excuse for being short with her.

             More than once, she considered pulling Midsummer closer to Thom, and wheedling a spark of Gift out of him so she could recast the pain spell, but she could tell even in the dim light of the overcast day that the dab of power she’d perked him up with was long gone. He was nearly as tapped out as she was. Likely as not, so was Maude, after the Seeing the day before. All they had for protection from whatever lurked in the forests of the Grimhold Mountains was Corram and his sword.  That particular thought made the trees on either side seem to loom higher, and Alanna unconsciously tugged her cloak closer.

            They stopped near what must have been midday, though the sun had not peeked out from behind the leaden clouds since disappearing earlier in the morning. Trebond Way ended here, where it met the Great Road. That was a relief: the Great Road North, up which she and Maude were to go, was patrolled by Tortallan soldiers against the Scanran threat. She would feel much better in the company of a half-dozen of those grim, maroon-adorned soldiers than with just Corram. He looked as relieved as she felt to have reached the crossroads without event. Alanna had been so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how nervous Corram was. As he dismounted from his horse to talk to Maude, he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the woods around them.

            She guided Midsummer over to Thom. Her twin was almost slumped over in the saddle, his eyes half-shut, and, with a grin, she prodded him, lightly. He jerked upright with a start, and Alanna had to grab Chubby’s reins to keep the horse from dumping her twin.  “We’ve reached the crossroads.”

            Thom yawned, and glanced around. “Oh.” His yawn resolved into a frown. “And so, I’m sent off to learn butchery, and you to have all the sensibleness butchered out of you. When we next see each other, I’ll be a mass of bruises, and you a mass of lace.”

            She couldn’t help but giggle, even if it bothered her a little how little regard he had for what noblewomen did.  Of course, since their mother had died when they were young, all he had to go on was their brief history with Lady Catherine, which had left neither of them with a good impression of the type.

            “Find a palace healer to teach you how to fix the bruises, and maybe you won’t have to be covered in them. Plus, you’ll learn something.”

            Thom, who struggled with healing magic almost as much as he hated learning it, brightened slightly at the idea of getting to learn some smidge of spellcraft. Her heart ached to see such a small thing brighten his morning. More than anything, she wished he could come with her to the City of the Gods. He’d be much happier in the Cloisters, she was certain of it. But Father didn’t care about what made them happy. He only cared for what was proper. Reaching out, she took Thom’s hand, wishing she had the words to say it all. His eyes met hers, and the frown he was wearing turned into something that was almost a smile. He understood. She didn’t need to say anything.

            “This is it. No more spell practice in the storerooms. No more sneaking cakes from Cook. No more stealing from Father’s library.”

            She mutely nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

            “Don’t let the other girls scare you. Just imagine they’re all Lady Catherine, wailing and tripping over their skirts.”

            At that, she cracked a smile as well, and, still wordless, pulled Thom into a hug, not even caring that it made her hand ache to press it against his back. She refused to be the first of them to cry, but clung to him for a few moments longer than usual. Finally, she managed to find her voice.

            “Be careful, okay? With the scrying, with the magic, with the palace. With the swords and the arrows and the lances. Keep your guard up.” They held the hug for a few moments longer, then came apart. She had to prod Chubby to get the pony stepping away from her. Maude and Corram had finished saying their goodbyes as well. Thom and Corram were the first to leave, fading into the grey drizzle down the right fork of the road. Her favorite pony taking her only brother to a future he dreaded… “He’ll do alright as a knight. He has Corram to watch out for him.” She’d meant to whisper it to herself as reassurance, but her voice sounded as uncertain as she felt, and she had to suppress a shiver. Trying to distract herself from Thom’s fate, she turned Midsummer towards Maude.

            “Do we wait for an army patrol?” She realized as she spoke that it was the first thing she’d said to the healing woman since the day before, and her hand twinged in guilty memory. “Or just go now?”

            The healing woman had been staring intently after the departing pair. She turned, blinking, to Alanna. “No sense in waiting. They’ll likely be hiding in a wayhouse, what with the rain and all. No, no, let’s be on our way, child.”

 

* * *

 

            The rain, it seemed, had just been conspiring to make them miserable. As they turned north, it slowed to a drizzle, then faded entirely, though the dolorous grey clouds that had brought it stayed behind. As much as Alanna hated to admit it, Maude’s silence was beginning to wear on her as much as the weather. All her life, Maude had been a comfortable, constant, unchanging presence. She could be relied on for overcautious admonishments and bits of surprisingly wicked humor in equal parts, but silence was simply not like her. It made Alanna nervous, more nervous even than the dark woods on either side, or the thought of Scanran raiding parties hidden in them. What had Maude dreamt that had frightened her so? What had she seen in the fire? It was a chain of thought that would lead nowhere pleasant, she was certain of it, and she wished she had something to distract herself with.

            It was only then that she remembered the little book, tucked into her doublet. It had been more than a day since she’d last looked at it, and she found herself wondering if the content would be a tad less dull when she was fully awake. If these Ysandir were powerful sorcerers, there might be some spells described — or mentioned, at least! — between the stodgy history sections. By some stroke of luck, it seemed she had stuck the book into the right side of her doublet, which meant she could reach it with the undamaged hand. Gripping Misummer’s reins in her teeth, she paused for a moment, to see if Midsummer would spook. The pony plodded on as if nothing had happened. Without unclasping her cloak, Alanna dug her hand into the folds of her clothing, and, after a minute’s struggle, drew out the book with a quiet ‘ha!’.

            She cracked the cover, careful not to let any of the water that pooled in the folds of her cloak spill out onto the pages. The feeling of parchment against her fingers was strangely soothing, and as she ran her finger along the bottom of the page, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It was going to be alright. Among all the uncertainty of the world, among strange dreams and stranger burns, even among dark woods, there was a comforting certainty in a book. The pages never changed, the words never changed. Books had always been there when she needed them, and though this one was new to her, she had a feeling it was going to become one of her favorites, as much so as _Lying Light._ Feeling heartened, she let her fingers guide her, flipping through the book to where she’d found that strange booklet sewn into the pages.

            She hadn’t had much of a chance to take a closer look at it, the night before last —it seemed impossible that only a _day_ had passed since Maude had caught her in the library— and the second glance was as perplexing as the first. Before, it had been the writing that had puzzled her, and it was no more comprehensible now, but this time she noticed that among the endless, unreadable swirls, there were diagrams and rough ink sketches. She must have missed them on the first glance because they’d been done with the same color of ink, almost burgundy in shade. As she flipped through the delicate sheets, one of them caught her eye. Here, the looping writing was almost entirely absent. Instead, a magical sigil she didn’t recognize occupied the entire page. Triangles tessellated within triangles, and at each point was a rune of the unknown language. _It looks like a summoning spell!_

Alanna had never tangled with summoning magic herself —if the library had books on it, they were higher than she could reach— but she knew it was usually very old, and very powerful. According to legend, Thom’s favorite sorcerer, Jeryu of Barzun, had once used a summoning spell to bring Mithros himself from the Divine Realms to change the tide of a battle. She traced her finger along the perfect straight lines of the triangles, a wave of goosebumps running up her arm.

            Above, thunder boomed, and Alanna jumped, nearly dropping the book. Midsummer, who had been placidly trotting along while her rider got lost in the pages of the book, jolted forward, frightened by the sound and Alanna’s sudden movement. She hauled back in the saddle, pulling as hard as she dared on the reins still between her teeth, fumbling with the book in one hand, trying to sooth Midsummer with the other without agitating her burns, but the sudden movement had overbalanced her, and she could feel herself slipping from the saddle. After a few more moments of a frenzied canter, Midsummer slowed back to the comfortable trot, leaving her rider dizzy with pain and barely hanging on. Alanna had lost control of the reins, the leather yanked from between her teeth, and just as she was certain she would topple from Midsummer entirely, she felt a familiar hand settle on her shoulder, steadying her in the saddle.

            “It’s only thunder, child, don’t fret.” She hadn’t heard Maude approach, and she was suddenly conscious both of the book and of the glove that still covered her right hand. Her cloak did a good job of hiding both, and if Maude noticed, she made no sign of it. Keeping the tome wedged against her doublet, Alanna reached out with a slightly trembling hand, and retrieved the reins.

            “It was Midsummer that got spooked by the thunder, not me.”            

            Maude’s lips curved into a smile for the first time that day. “Of course, Alanna. You’ve never hidden from thunder beneath your bed with your brother. Not even once.”

            Alanna flushed. “I haven’t in _years_.” She didn’t want to tell Maude that it was more than just thunder scaring her, but, seemingly satisfied that her charge was alright, the woman had already let go of her shoulder, and was urging her horse forward and away. Alanna spared a glare up at the sky. “No reason to go frightening poor Midsummer like that.” If thunder really was the sound of Mithros pounding his shield in the Divine Realms the way the stories said, she wished he would pick better moments to do it. 

            Once she was certain that Maude was several paces ahead along the road, she drew the book back out from under her cloak. She’d lost her place, of course, but that was alright. The thunderclap had, for the moment, relieved her of any interest in summoning spells. While she was certain that just _touching_ the rune couldn’t have possibly done anything, for the first time in her life, she decided to stick with reading about history instead of magiic, and leave the strange runes for another time, preferably when she had a roof over her head. Just in case.

            She opened the book at random, hoping to find another drawing like the one that had so fascinated her on the opening pages, and to her delight, was rewarded with exactly that. Here, the top halves of both pages had been left empty of words, and instead, the artist had drawn a fenced-in pasture. Some dozen sheep were in the pen, grazing on grass that had never been drawn in. The detail on most of the piece was loose and flowing, but again, she found her eyes drawn to a figure not unlike the woman from the first drawing. This time, the woman’s hair was done in fine threads of gold leaf, not midnight-black ink. She sat on one of the fenceposts, detail seeming to flow off her, as if she illuminated the scene. The rest of the fence had been done in simple lines, but where it supported her, the artist had rendered the even the faint hint of the grain, and had used a brown stain to bring life and color to the wood. Alanna wondered if this woman had golden eyes as well, but there was no way to tell. She had been drawn facing away from the viewer, gazing upon the cattle in a way so possessive that Alanna could almost feel it.

            Curious, she glanced down at the page for an explanation. She had to flip back a page to find the start of the passage.

  _On The Beloved Flock_

_It was Yolane, daughter of Ylanda the Lesser, who established the roots of what would become the Beloved Flock. Her mother had created the reservoirs that held water from the Spring floods for the Summer droughts, and Yolane wished to do the same for magic. In times of war, the demands on the Ysandir's sorcery exceeded what they could conjure from within. Yolane discovered that this power could be drawn from within other beings, just as power could be fed to beings when they tired._

Alanna recalled the spark of strength she had given Thom that morning, and nodded. It was the simplest of magics to give strength to another. To take it, however…?

_Yolane began to experiment with drawing power from the wild creatures of the jungle, but found that they would not surrender their strength. The answer proved to be much simpler, found in the herds of animals that had before been prized only for their wool. Sheep, who fed on grass steeped in their masters' magic, had strength in abundance and yielded it easily. This discovery was the path to her ascendance to the throne. In the last year of the reign of Ylanda the Lesser, Yolane entered the throne room with three rams at her side, and at the cost of their lives, took the crown. She established the Beloved Flock as a source of strength for any subject who wished to use it, but cared for the creatures herself, for she believed that the power of creatures devoted to her could not be turned against her._

            Alanna’s gaze ran up to the golden-haired figure again. _Yolane_. In all her eleven years, she’d never found a book that mentioned magic like this. Of course, she knew it was possible to bind other sorcerers as a source of power, but sheep didn’t have the Gift. Right? It was no doubt no more than a fanciful tale, like griffons, or winged horses. She was about to flip to the next page, and discover if Yolane had been right about her flock not being used against her, when the light wind that had been steadily blowing at her back turned. Now, it was coming from further along up the road. With it, came the smell of smoke, and something else, something that her stomach recognized with a lurch as the stench of charred meat. _Maude!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it only took four months!  
> As always, typo corrections and comments are welcome.


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